


Someone to Break Me

by Looming



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:52:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looming/pseuds/Looming
Summary: “The stars.”A moan slides past Chloe’s lips at the contact, her eyes drifting closed all over again. “Yeah,” she says. “Them.”“Cute.” Rachel presses another kiss to the spot. It makes Chloe’s pulse flutter. Makes it trip, and stumble, and roll itself over itself until it climbs back into a run. “But I asked if you ever thought aboutbefore. You know, right before you left me to go on your one woman trip to la-la land.”





	Someone to Break Me

**Author's Note:**

> One more of these short fics that could very easily exist in the same universe as [Feathers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098667) if you wanted it to! You don't have to want it to! 
> 
> Or to read that fic at all (but I would love it if you did) !

If Chloe was at all poetic, she might have something to say about the stars tonight.

The way they shine like fires long extinguished; untouchable flares signaling proof of some distant destruction and chaos stubbornly fighting to keep itself known long after death; to keep itself alive just long enough for someone, somewhere, on some rock in the middle of _something_ , to see them and think, “ _Good for you. You lived a good life. You made your mark._ ”

_If._

_If_ she was poetic.

But she isn’t.

So she doesn’t think that.

Instead, her thoughts land in territory decidedly more morbid. She thinks things more along the lines of, “ _I’m probably going to die here. In some nowhere town in the middle of some nothing corner of the country. I’m going to die, and nothing I do will ever have mattered._ ”

Her thoughts settle there. And not on the stars. Because if her thoughts _were_ that far away, swimming through the nothing of space with the moon and the constellations and the memories of the lives that they hold as her company, she wouldn’t be at all close enough to earth to notice the knuckles tapping against her forehead.

“Hellooo in there, space cadet!”

Chloe blinks herself back inside of her head.

She’s lying on the hood of her truck half-dressed and barely still wearing her shirt, propped up against the windshield. Rachel is staring expectantly down at her on hands and knees, completely topless and smiling in that steady, lopsided way that she has. Half-lidded eyes full of something that keeps Chloe’s attention from drifting away to anything, anything, _anything_ else.

She laughs, and the sound renders Chloe speechless. Breathless. Frozen in place and unable to so much as blink.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, nerd?” Rachel asks softly, brushing more than a few stray strands of hair away from Chloe’s eyes and knocking loose her hat in the process. Neither of them rushes to grab it. “Talk to me.”

When Chloe gives no answer, Rachel plucks the cigarette from her lips — had she been smoking this whole time? — and makes use of it herself. Her eyes stay locked on Chloe as she inhales deep and slow. As its tip burns bright; a glow built from reds, oranges, and yellows, fading from one to the other and then back again. She waits patiently, and the silence continues to grow. It grows, and it grows, and her eyes stay locked on Chloe even when she blows out a thin stream of smoke through pursed lips, still somehow smiling — always smiling. Always waiting. Always patiently eager and still so, so, so caring.

But when she flicks the remains of the cigarette away and into the sand of the beach; when she leans down, leans close, and kisses Chloe lazy and unhurried and still, _still,_ smiling that constant, always smile, her eyes finally drift closed.

Hers and Chloe’s both, until the only thing Chloe knows for sure is the taste of Rachel’s mouth. Fresh smoke and tobacco, musk and lips and the faint waxy nothing of the lipstick she still hasn’t wiped off. Her hands thread up through Rachel’s hair with minds of their own to caress at her cheeks and settle somewhere near the back of her neck, gently, gently urging her closer and into her arms through constant steady contact.

And Chloe thinks — because right now it feels impossible to know anything but _Rachel_ — that she might have finally rediscovered her voice.

“What were you thinking about?” Rachel asks in the very same moment that she slips away from Chloe’s insistence, newly settled into her side, wearing her arms like a coat and kissing a path around the shell of her ear like a constant little tease. _Not so fast. Not so easy. Not just yet._

Come to think of it, what _was_ she thinking about?

The stars?

“The stars,” she decides.

And again, like always, Rachel laughs. Again and again and like always, Rachel smiles, nuzzling closer and closer until her mouth is pressed up against the pulse point of Chloe’s throat. “The stars.”

A moan slides past Chloe’s lips at the contact, her eyes drifting closed all over again. “Yeah,” she says. “Them.”

“Cute.” Rachel presses another kiss to the spot. It makes Chloe’s pulse flutter. Makes it trip, and stumble, and roll itself over itself until it climbs back into a run. “But I asked if you ever thought about _before._ You know, right before you left me to go on your one woman trip to la-la land.”

Chloe butts her cheek at Rachel’s head. “Did you explain what you meant by _before?_ I think I was already gone”

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless tonight!”

“You still love me.”

“I do,” Rachel says with a hum, kissing Chloe’s throat once and twice, and then ten and twenty and thirty times, punctuating the whole thing with the tail end of her answer. “Unfortunately. But like, I just mean — before _this._ Before _us._ ”

To Chloe, her answering silence doesn’t feel like much. It feels like the world slows to a crawl and gives her mind space to breath. Gives her thoughts space to think. The silence feels like breathing deep for the hundredth, maybe millionth time.

But then Rachel makes a discouraged little noise.

And the way she starts to shuffle around, either anxious or impatient or both, tells her that the reality is distinctly more than _much._

So Chloe opens her mouth. “I try not to.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously, like…” Chloe says, pausing only just long enough to roll suddenly onto her stomach; to roll on top of Rachel and press her entire weight down with a strained, drawn out sort of groan until suddenly Rachel is giggling quietly, still patiently — always patiently — waiting for Chloe to go on with her explanation as she ties her arms comfortingly around her neck in a silent gesture of _please get to the point._ “This is good. I don’t need to worry about _before._ ”

Chloe leans in to nip gently, experimentally at Rachel’s throat. Soft and then hard, barely a whisper away from broken skin before she forgoes teeth altogether and sucks, licks, and laps at the spot like an apology for going too far and not going far enough all in one moment.

Rachel nearly gasps. “God,” she pushes through clenched teeth. Something is warring inside of her. Chloe maybe wants it that way. “Chlo, we _just —_ ”

Chloe maybe, definitely, wants it that way.

She maybe, definitely, beyond any shadow of a doubt, was hoping for it to be that way.

“I just told you. Before is before. Now is better,” she rasps against Rachel’s throat, making sure her every breath brushes and skips along the dip of her collarbones; the place where Rachel is most ticklish. “Before, we couldn’t laugh together like this.”

And Rachel laughs.

“I couldn’t touch you like this,” Chloe goes on, dragging the pads of her fingers, all callouses and rough, cracked skin, down the opposite side of Rachel’s throat.

Over the sweat slick swell of her chest, down her ribs and her stomach and down further still.

“Or _this._ ”

And this time, Rachel _does_ gasp. This time, Rachel lets her arms fall. She lets her hands settle against the back of Chloe’s neck. To fist into her hair and work under her shirt; to claw at her skin as their breathing moves nearly in sync to grow heavier and heavier and _heavier —_

“ _Okay._ ” Rachel husks, breathless.

“Okay?”

“Just — keep going, Chlo.”

“…Yeah?” Chloe asks, practically leaping up onto her elbows in excited disbelief. She’s smiling ear to ear and staring deep into Rachel’s eyes.

“You’re making a very convincing case,” Rachel says. She pulls Chloe back down and into a too-hard, too-rough kiss. Teeth and tongues and bruising lips, nails digging into skin and hands pulling at hair until a moan bubbles out of her throat, too high and too sweet with heat and with need and with Rachel, and Rachel, and _Rachel —_

Before Chloe realizes, Rachel’s legs are wrapped tight around her waist. Rachel’s mouth is on her throat. Rachel’s fingers are flicking their way inside the front of her still unbuttoned jeans, and suddenly up is down and down is up because when she wasn’t looking, Rachel found the exact amount of leverage needed to roll herself on top.

And she is ridiculously, shamelessly _proud_ of herself.

So, Rachel is there. Here. Now. Filling up every last one of Chloe’s senses like it’s as easy as snapping her fingers.

And the stars are far, far away. Hanging broken in the sky somewhere far out of reach; far in the past, and exactly where they belong.


End file.
